


And Lord, Am I Afraid

by beckettemory



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Bullying, Coming Out, Gen, Homophobia, Team Member Cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckettemory/pseuds/beckettemory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week after graduation, Bitty decides it's high time to come out to his parents.<br/>It's not that he's worried, it's that...<br/>No, actually, that's exactly the problem.<br/>He's terrified. </p><p>At least the team has his back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Lord, Am I Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of homophobia, bullying, bully-apologism, and implied emotional neglect by family members.

"And do you remember Margie? Brought over the pumpkin bread when you were sick over New Years? Well, her daughter Breanne...."

Bitty fidgeted in his seat, his fork clattering faintly against his plate of mostly untouched pot roast. The enormity of what he was about to do weighed heavily on his shoulders and he tried to pay attention to the story his mother was telling his father, but he'd been zoning out too long and was completely lost.

His mother stopped talking, looked at him. He met her eyes and hoped that she either didn't notice his distress or wouldn't say anything.

No such luck.

"Dicky, what's the matter? You've barely touched your food," she said, setting down her own fork. Her hands went to the napkin in her lap and experience told Bitty she was seconds away from walking around the dinner table to feel his forehead and ask if he was sick.

"I'm fine, Mama," he said, looking down and hoping she'd drop it. "Just a lot on my mind."

"You need to eat, son," his father said, and Bitty almost smiled, remembering Jack's ever-present admonishment to eat more protein.

"Yes, Coach," Bitty replied, more out of habit than anything. He took a bite of the beef so they'd leave him alone. It was enough for his mother, and she continued with her story as if she'd never stopped.

He wished phones were allowed at the dinner table. Georgia was tough enough usually, as much as he loved his mother with her propensity for gesturing dramatically while telling stories and her hugs that made everything in the world seem okay and his kitchen with its familiar bird décor and stubborn smell of cinnamon. Today was another story. He wanted to text Jack, Shitty, Lardo, for support. Hell, he'd even talk to _Johnson_ right now.

Some part of him knew that this was the worst part. Once it was over, everything else would be manageable.

The rational part of him was thinking that, at least. The rest of him? Well.

He mechanically ate, not really tasting, until his father finished eating. Then, in an effort to get his father in a good mood (as difficult as that was), he stood and took his own plate and his father's empty one, carrying them both to the kitchen and taking his time cleaning up.

As he was closing the dishwasher, Mama joined him in the kitchen with her own plate. Bitty's stomach jumped into his throat as he realized abruptly that it was time. His parents tended to sit at the table for a while after dinner, and he was usually expected to join them.

As he turned to leave the kitchen, Mama reached out to him. He sighed gratefully as she pulled him into a hug, wordlessly squeezing him tight before letting him go and following him to the table.

Coach was reading the paper. Bitty knew he'd already read it that morning, so it wouldn't matter if he interrupted. Bitty sat, twisting his hands together in his lap and nervously cleared his throat.

His father folded up the paper, peering at his son over the top of his reading glasses perched precariously on his nose.

"I, uh. Have something to say. Please refrain from asking questions until I am finished," Bitty said. His speech had come out more formal than he had practiced, and oh god he'd forgotten his notecards. Everything was already a disaster.

Coach sat up straighter and sat the paper on the corner of the table. His face hadn't changed at all. He'd be a good poker player. He _was_ a good poker player. Mama cocked her head slightly out of curiosity.

"I'm. I wrote down how I was going to do this but I forgot my index cards so I'm just going to wing it. Actually, no, I'm going to go get my—"

"Dicky," Mama said quietly, stilling him. He locked eyes with her, drew courage from her compassionate eyes.

It was time.

Bitty took a deep breath, felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, felt his chest tighten. He stared at a point in the middle of the table, unable to meet either of their gazes.

"I'm gay."

It was completely silent and still for a long second, like someone had sucked every bit of air from the room.

"Oh."

The single word from his father hit like a punch to the solar plexus.

It was quiet for another moment, and Bitty felt his eyes stinging, his throat tightening.

When, after fifteen seconds that felt like a lifetime, neither of his parents had spoken again and the threat of tears was growing by the millisecond, Bitty quietly excused himself. As he nearly sprinted to the stairs he heard nothing behind him. They hadn't moved.

He took the stairs two at a time, pressing his forearm to his mouth to keep from sobbing until he was safely out of earshot. He dodged the few boxes of school things still sitting in the upstairs hallway.

In his room he shut the door and sat back against it heavily, finally dropping his arm from his mouth and letting the tears fall and the sobs rip up from inside him. Some part of him knew he was overreacting. A small part. It was easily silenced. He pressed shaking hands to his eyes, hiccuping every few difficult breaths.

He had been wrong. _This_ was the worst part.

Why had he been expecting anything else? This was _Georgia_. His father, a football coach and known bully-apologist. His mother, a gossip who frequently talked negatively about other people's children. Of course. Of _course_.

When he could finally breathe normally again and his eyes were more or less clear, he got up off the floor and trudged to his bed, where his phone lay next to Señor Bun. He curled up leaning against his pillows and checked his phone. Four unread messages.

He'd sent each of his close friends a text earlier that day saying he was going to finally come out to his folks. Jack had called and talked to him on the phone for an hour, his accent and words of support soothing Bitty's frayed nerves. When he'd hung up he had three missed calls from Shitty, and he talked to him for almost two hours. Lardo had sent him a series of photos of puppies and kittens, half a dozen texts of just emojis, and a short, "I believe in you. Good luck." He hadn't received any response from Ransom and Holster before dinner, and wasn't expecting to; they were still on their yearly best friend vacation and busy all day.

Now, though, one of the texts that had come during dinner was from Holster. Bitty opened it and found that it was a selfie of him and Rans, each forming half of a heart with his hand and smiling warmly. 

The second was from Lardo. "How'd it go?" He didn't trust himself to reply just yet.

The third was from Shitty. "Remember, I got your back, bruh. Always. And if you need to get away, I've got a sick ass apartment in Cambridge. Love you, Bits."

Bitty had started to type up a reply when there was a tentative knock on his door. He dropped his phone in his lap and his heart began pounding again.

"Come in," he croaked finally.

Mama slowly opened the door. She closed it carefully behind herself and stood just in front of it. She looked so small.

"Can I sit down?" she asked quietly, and he nodded. She sat cautiously on the edge of his bed.

Tears welled up in his eyes again when she came close and he wanted so badly to crawl into her lap and be held. He didn't. He couldn't.

She didn't say anything for a long time.

"I don't know what to say, Dicky," she murmured finally.

"That you don't hate m—" he couldn't finish his sentence; his voice gave out and he squeezed his eyes closed. She looked at him finally, alarmed, and alarm melted into compassion immediately. She reached out to him and he crumpled into her. She smoothed his hair and wiped his cheeks, and it was only when he heard her sniffle that he realized she was crying too.

Concerned, he sat up and saw that she was smiling through her tears.

"Honey, I could never hate you," she whispered, wiping a bit of moisture from his face. She hugged him close for a long moment and then held him at arm's length. The smile was gone from her face.

"I do.... have some questions, though," she said, and he froze, panicking.

"Uh. Um. I figured you would. I. What are they?" Bitty asked. He bit his lip to keep from babbling.

She sighed and turned, pulling one leg up on the bed and getting comfortable. Had the context been different this would have felt intimately familiar.

"Well, ah," she started, gathering her words with her hands. "When?"

Bitty blinked at her. "When what? When did I become gay or—"

"Y-yeah, I guess."

He shrugged. "I don't really know. I might have always been? I mean, I knew when I was in high school. Like, around sophomore year. But I don't really know when it happened. Or if it _happened_ at all."

She looked sad. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He had been dreading this question. He'd been running all of the things he thought she'd ask through his mind all week, rehearsing his answers, but he'd never come up with any answers to this question that wouldn't hurt her feelings.

"Mama I didn't...... I didn't wait so long to hurt you. I guess I was scared. I'm _still_ scared," he admitted, and she put her hand on his knee.

"Of what?"

Good lord.

"Mama. We live in the _south_. Not the most welcoming place for gays, you know," he explained. He paused, searching for an acceptable explanation. "It's like... You remember Jake Thurgood?"

"Was he the one who cheated on his SATs?"

"No, he was the one who got kicked off Coach's football team for 'starting fights' with the other boys."

Mama nodded. "Right, yeah, I remember him. Your daddy was so pissed."

"Yeah, that's why, mama. He wasn't starting fights. He was getting bullied. Bad. Because he was gay," Bitty said, and he watched as his mother's eyes widened.

"Lord! I had no idea." Something dawned on her, and she looked at Bitty in alarm. He nodded.

"Coach knew. And still kicked him off the team instead of doing something about the bullying."

Mama's face darkened and her brow knit, and Bitty had to pat her knee to keep her from storming off.

"My _point_ , mama. Is that it's not really...safe. To be gay in this town."

"Then why... why come out? Especially with Richard having...."

He sighed and rearranged himself, gathering his thoughts before speaking again.

"Because.... Because I'm tired of hiding, mama. Especially from my family. Everyone else in town, I don't really care about. I didn't have a lot of friends in school here anyway. And now....okay, Mama, I'm going to tell you something else shocking and you have to _promise_ not to have a heart attack, okay?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Okay," she said cautiously.

"Well, I told the boys at school... about a year and a half ago. No, that's not the thing," he said quickly, and she closed her mouth. "And they were great about it. And everything and everyone was fine, so I didn't try to hide it at school. And then at graduation a week ago. Uh. Jack kissed me."

Mama's hand flew to her mouth and he swore he heard a bitten-off squeal.

"So we've been.... I don't know, I guess we're dating?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Oh, Dicky. That's so great," Mama said, sounding like she was going to cry again. "He's such a nice boy, that Jack. I'll have to send him a care package. What's his favorite color? Favorite cookies? How does he feel about coconut?"

"Mama."

"Oh, I'm sorry Dicky. I just get so excited, you haven't been dating anyone since Kayla Bennett in the sixth grade. I wonder if she still has that locket you gave her?"

" _Mama_."

She laughed, and he felt relief wash over him like a cool shower after weight training day.

She studied him fondly, then reached out and rubbed his hair every which way, like she'd done to make him laugh since he was little. She pulled him close and placed a loud smooch on his forehead.

"I'm happy for you, Dicky. I really am. And I'm glad you came to me, even if it took you a while." She paused. "I can't say I completely understand, but I want to. And I want you to feel safe when you come home."

He bit his lip.

"What about Coach?"

She didn't meet his eyes. "I don't know. He wanted to talk to you when I was done. Said I could go first so he could keep thinking."

Bitty nodded slowly and avoided meeting his mother's eyes. She waited for him, and then when he didn't say anything she patted his cheek.

"It'll be fine, sweetheart. I'm on your side," she assured him, and it did make him feel better, at least a little bit. Even still, his stomach fluttered nervously and he felt vaguely like he was going to pass out.

It wasn't that Bitty was particularly afraid of his father, per se, it was that his father had never been particularly supportive when his son's wishes and personality had conflicted with his own. That, and the football thing. That did not help matters.

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, then nodded. Mama patted his face again, then stood.

"I love you, Dicky."

"I love you too, Mama."

And then she was gone and Bitty was panicking again. His palms were sweating and he leaned back against his pillows to try to calm down. He pressed his palms over his eyes and breathed as evenly as he could, wondering why his father was taking so long.

Anxious, he picked up his phone and tried to respond to Shitty.

"Mama just left. She's.....fine, I guess. Haven't talked to Coach yet. I don't know what to expect and I'm so sc—"

There was a sharp rap on his door and his phone slipped out of his clammy fingers.

"C-come in," he stuttered.

His father came in, his brow set and his glasses clutched in one hand. Not a good sign. He sat in Bitty's desk chair after swiveling it to face the bed and he put his elbows on his knees and folded his hands together. He hadn't looked at Bitty even once when he finally spoke.

"Well, son," he started. He didn't continue.

Bitty was wrong. He _was_ afraid of his father.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

His father nodded.

"Your mother and I talked. She gave me an earful about Jake Thurgood, which I suspect I deserve." He paused, seemed to be deliberating something. "She said you were scared."

Bitty was quiet.

Coach finally looked up at him, and his expression was unreadable.

"Are you? Scared of me?"

What was he supposed to say to that? The truth, and admit to a weakness, his father's least favorite kind of character trait? Or a lie, and call his mother dishonest?

Bitty looked at his hands.

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

"Oh." This time it was quieter, more contemplative. Bitty wanted to burrow directly into the earth where no one could look at him.

His father was silent for a long time.

"I don't want you to be afraid of me," he said finally, quieter than Bitty had ever heard him speak.

Bitty couldn't respond.

"What should I do, Dicky?" his father asked, and Bitty was struck with the realization that this was the first time he had ever asked for a suggestion from him. It was always orders and point-blank questions.

He hesitated. He hadn't been preparing for this. He knew what he would have said if his mother had asked him the same question, but the answer and tone were vastly different.

Or maybe it wasn't that different.

"Nothing," he said quietly, and his father looked at him quizzically. "Don't change anything you're doing. Treat me the same as you always have and I'll be fine."

His father nodded slowly, but Bitty could tell that he didn't fully understand.

"I don't want you to think of me as anything or anyone other than the son you raised all these years. I'm still the same person," he explained, and his father nodded again, seeming to understand.

"Just don't, you know, keep asking if any girls have caught my eye," Bitty joked, and his father laughed. His nerves calmed some at the sound, a short exhalation through his nose that reminded him of when he was small and stood in front of his father while learning how to fish and build things and read football plays and he'd cracked a joke and his father had laughed and the huff had ruffled his hair.

His father hesitated. "Your mother mentioned Jack?"

Bitty rolled his eyes. "Of course she did. She was so excited."

Coach laughed. "She was."

His face fell and he didn't speak for several seconds. "I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me about this stuff. I mean, I guess I can see why you haven't. I haven't... been the most open-minded guy in the world. But, ah... I want you to be happy. And if... _this_... makes you happy, then I'm all for it. And I'll try to be better."

Bitty smiled. "Can't ask for more than that. Thanks, Coach."

His father stood and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good talk, son," he said absentmindedly as he headed for the door. He paused with the door open, thumb surely worrying a bare patch in the varnish on the doorjamb.

"I have to go to the hardware store in the morning, do you want to go?"

Bitty grinned sheepishly. "Not really. I'm still recovering from finals. Thanks, though."

Coach laughed. "Right. Well, don't sleep all day."

"I won't."

His father left, closing the door behind himself, and Bitty collapsed dramatically back onto his pillows. He let out a slow breath.

He had survived.

Some part of him knew that it would always have been okay. A small part. It was easily silenced.

He picked up his phone and deleted everything he had started to send to Shitty.

"Everything is fine. They don't really get it but I'm safe and okay."

He hit send.

He hadn't yet opened the text from Jack that he'd gotten during dinner.

It read: "I told my parents, too. They don't really understand but they're supportive. My mom wants to send you a care package. What's your favourite colour?"

Bitty had to put his phone down carefully so he wouldn't smack himself in the face with it in the fit of giggles that overtook him.

When he could breathe again, he blinked through the tears that had sprung up in his eyes and hit the 'call' button.

"Ah, bonjour, Bittle," Jack said on the other end.

Bitty started to greet him, but another wave of giggles overtook him and he had to fight to keep his phone up to his ear.

"So it went well?" he heard on the other end, but he couldn't respond just yet.

This was the best part. He was sure of it.


End file.
